I read a book that gutted me
I turned each page immersed
in worlds far away
in sacrifice.
This masterpiece past any piece
of writing I could do.
Now Twitter says,
that author follows you.
My joy is tangled in my grief
that I may be worth
the following!
.
.
.
NaPoWriMo day 5. Skipping the official prompts today.
Murmuring voices
racing around me, vacuum engine growl,
white noise.
Words without meaning.
Sound without sense.
There you are.
Your mouth moves,
but I can not hear you
anymore.
You know everything
at least you think you do
and constraints of adult expectations
are irritation to you.
So that older guy on social media
successfully calls you
offering freedom and attention
and you leave confidently,
but we fear your bravado
will crash into a predator
and send you cringing home
your security crushed
forever, by the wisdom gained
too late and too painfully.
Distance offered safety
Communication was a precious gift
words in letters to save, tied up in ribbon,
opened and savoured.
Today how do they preserve memories?
In the Toronto dawn
the sun crept silently up to the
last mortal remains of the pudgy bandit,
laid out on the sidewalk like a sacrifice.
The call went out:
Three-one-one! Three-one-one! Come!
The City promised swift removal of the corpse.
But–political promises being oft full of air–
the raccoon remains remained throughout the day.
Not content to leave sleeping Procyonidae lie
crowds marked the site of his demise,
memorial to the adorable, nocturnal beast
with flowers, photos, Tweets, and cards,
pseudo-grief growing with the day
while #deadraccoonto began to decay.
Until by the light of the moon (a raccoon’s party hour)
The City van came to gather the cadaver,
but left the flowers.
.
.
.
This was a social media event in July . The body of a raccoon was found and reported. A spontaneous mock-memorial grew up around it. It was all recorded on Twitter, with even a council member (Norm Kelly) participating. I think it makes a fascinating commentary of social media through parody.
.
Communication is so easy
Facebook, Twitter, text, phone
a million ways to message instantly:
No excuses for
your silence.
.
.
(I could also have entitled this, “Call Your Mother!”) 😉
In this time
I can watch a TV show
and share thoughts
impressions
giggles
and sighs
with others watching
simultaneously
all across the country.
Humming Twitter feed
makes for good
company.
Unlike chickens.
.
.
#OutlanderCAN #kiltit This poem references a famous line from the first really intimate conversation between Jamie and Claire
“When I woke, I was trussed up in the wagon wi’ the chickens, jolting down the road to Fort William.”
“I see, I said quietly, “I’m sorry. It must have been terrible for you.”
“Oh, aye. Chickens are verra poor company, especially on a long journey.”
Diana Gabaldon. Outlander Toronto: Seal Books. p. 90
